Accusation
by LindseyBee
Summary: Soda's death during the war was more Steve's doing than anyone realizes, and Steve won't let himself forget that it was him who pulled the trigger.
1. Chapter 1

I'm taking a slight break from my other full-length story, _Dumped_, because my fabulous best friend and the movie _Brothers _inspired me to write a Vietnam fic about Steve. Don't worry, though, if you read my other story. It's not getting dropped. I'll probably update it soon, actually. (:

As mentioned, this fic is briefly based upon the movie _Brothers_. I saw a part of it, and I thought it was beautifully made, yet a tragic concept that could be translated into a fan fiction. This story is not going to follow its exact plot, though. As I said, I only saw a little bit of the movie, so this fic may contain some of the parts of it that I actually _saw_. And there's no plagiarism intended, of course. :]

So, you know the drill, kindly read and review. And I do not own _The Outsiders_.

Setting: Tulsa, 1969. The only time the setting will actually be _presently _set in Vietnam is during flashbacks/dreams. Steve is coming home from the war after a few weeks of imprisonment. I will explore his time in captivity more as the story progresses. Soda, who had also been captured and held in the same camp as Steve, has been killed.

Rating: For now, it's T, although it _may _change to M, depending on where the story leads to.

-

The Curtis household. God, Steve hadn't been all too sure he'd see this place in visible site ever again. And now, having it stand only feet away from him, towering above his frame, he didn't know what to think. There was a distinct bitterness clouding the relief that he'd expected himself to feel. So for a while, Steve just stood there, staring at the place. Finally, realizing that his friends and girlfriend had been expecting him for days, he took a hesitant step towards the front door. What would they think, especially Darry and Ponyboy, seeing him…standing in the midst of their living room? Would they be cheerful, maybe, to be sure he was alive, or disgusted…because he wasn't Sodapop? Steve was afraid, almost petrified, to witness their expressions. Nevertheless, he forced his dreary assumptions away, standing at the very foot of the front door. He knocked lightly on the wooden pane, although he knew he was already welcomed, and then entered completely.

The entire gang—well, the entire _living _gang, being only Darry, Ponyboy, and Two-Bit, froze and stared at him in awe as he set his suitcase down on the carpeted floor. Steve, despite his current outlook from the poison that was the war, smiled a hardly audible little grin. It was a rare day when Two-Bit was speechless, at least, from what he could remember about his old buddy. It'd been nearly two years since he'd existed in Tulsa.

"Steve—oh God—_Steve_!" Evie was the first to speak. She was there, too, which didn't surprise Steve in the slightest. He remembered the last words she'd spoken to him: "Steve Randle—" she'd cried, tears protruding town her face, "you'd better come back, d'you hear me? And I don't mean in pieces, neither."

Abruptly, fragile hands were secured tightly around Steve's waist, caressing it gently while still managing to choke the life out of him. Steve scoffed to make his girlfriend aware of this, and she released. He had to look away once Evie matched his eyes. Liquid was pouring from hers, and he could hardly take it. "Jesus, Steve—I didn't think I'd see you again…." Evie wiped her sleeve along her face, clearing away some of the wetness, before embracing Steve in a second bone-crushing hug, as if ignorant of his recent complaint.

Steve touched Evie's face gently with the back of his hand once she pulled away. She was smiling and chewing so hard on her lip that it nearly bled. She seemed expectant, so Steve murmured, "Yeah, baby, I missed you too," which pulsed another wave of joyful sobs through her body.

Evie's greeting expired, so she placed herself on the couch. Steve was now focused wholly on the gang, or what was left of it. Darry was at the border of the pack, followed by Two-Bit behind him, and Ponyboy at the very rear. They all seemed at a loss for words, even Two-Bit (which still shocked Steve), but eventually, Darry spoke up.

"Steve…" He was the first, besides his girlfriend, to hug him. If Evie's embrace was overwhelming, it was nothing compared to Darry's. He just about killed him in a chokehold. But Steve didn't struggle away, because, for the same reason he'd allowed Evie to encase him in a second cuddle, he'd missed Superman just as much as he had every other gang member. In fact, Steve almost wished that Darry would punch him in the jaw just as he did oh-so-many years ago when he'd insulted him, just to support the realization that he was actually home and this wasn't all an illusion. _All brawn and no brains_. If Steve recalled correctly, that had been the offense that had sent him sprawling into a world of pain.

Darry's grip loosened, and Steve was free to breath easily once more. Steve mumbled a short, "Thanks, Superman," which caused a single droplet to drip down Darry's cheek. Steve almost broke down himself. He hadn't expected _Darry_, of all his buddies, to cry over him.

The second greaser to hug Steve was Two-Bit. He had regained that familiar goofy smile on his face, but still refused to utter anything verbally. Steve was relieved, though. Silence was the only factor that he, at this very moment, was interested in.

Steve looked to Ponyboy as Two-Bit shuffled away from him. Ponyboy shifted uncomfortably beneath the older boy's gaze and glared away from him. Steve titled his head indecisively at his gesture. His memory served him well enough, and it was nagging him of the countless times he'd dubbed Ponyboy a "tagalong". Soda's shadow, even. But before Steve had left for Nam, he'd gained a strangling hug from Ponyboy. Hadn't that rebound all severed ties between them?

"Ponyboy…" Darry looked at Pony piercingly, but he only shook his head and glanced at the hallway to his left. Then, treating it as an escape route, he sprinted towards it, and Steve heard a bedroom door slam audibly from the upstairs of the Curtis home.

"Sorry…" Darry and Two-Bit exchanged looks. "You know, Soda and Pony…" Darry's explanation deleted itself. There was no need for him to complete his sentence. Steve knew exactly what he was trying to say just from those dumpy few words.

"Yeah…" Steve exhaled. Now _his_ eyes were on the hall.

"Did you…did you want to come into the kitchen?" Darry suggested. "We, uhh, got a cake…."

"No." Steve didn't feel much guilt from declining, as he'd expected himself to. He was just so tired and sore and aged from the war, eating _cake_ didn't feel like the appropriate celebration to attend. "I wanna go to sleep."

Darry nodded understandingly and gestured towards the hallway, as if Steve didn't recall his way around the house. "Take my room. I didn't think you'd want Soda's old one…." He gnawed on his lower lip, and Steve trudged towards the hall. Evie followed after him, but he waved his hand at her. "I gotta be alone for now," he said simply. Evie grinned a vinegary smile and nodded, looking somewhat dejected. Steve ignored her response, figuring she'd comprehend his current state well enough, and let himself into Darry's room. It had been cleaned out of all Darry's articles of clothing, and the comforter on the bed wafted lightly of laundry detergent. Steve placed his belongings down on the ground and took a seat on Darry's bed.

Steve could hear Two-Bit's obnoxious tone echoing from the downstairs, mentioning something about cake, which was followed by Darry's voice hissing: "Not without _Steve_…."

The brief conversation made Steve wonder why they'd ordered a cake—and for _him_. What exactly was there to celebrate? His arrival home? That wasn't an accomplishment. Not for Steve, it wasn't. It shouldn't have been him that had come home—it should've been Soda. Because nothing bad was supposed to happen to Sodapop. Especially not because of Steve's doing.

-

So, liked it? Hated it? Review, critique, and flame as you must. [:


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter two—you know what I want. ;] Read and review. (:

I do not own _The Outsiders_, so please do not sue me. I haven't got much of value, anyway. :P Oh, and I'll say I don't own the movie _Brothers _either, just for safety.

-f

"_Soda—Soda!" Steve squinted his eyes at the hideous site before him. He struggled in the grip of his captors, watching with large, terrified pupils as his and Soda's tormenters tore part of Soda's uniform from his muscled body. He'd definitely bulked up since joining the army almost two years ago. More than Steve had, anyway._

_Soda did not reply to Steve's shouts. His eyes, usually alit with a familiar recklessness, were dark and stormy, matching his stonily gloomy expression. It was the sort of appearance that did not fit someone who was called by the title "Sodapop"._

_The soldiers surrounding the young men, most much more colossal than either Steve or Soda could ever hope to be, shouted to each other in indistinct Vietnamese. The clutch on Steve's arms was tightened, and a stoker, heated at the very metal tip, was removed from the midst of a crackling outdoor fireplace. Steve and Soda each glanced at each other, although Soda seemed determine to keep his expression set, before the men shouted amongst themselves once more. Steve bit his lip, struggling pointlessly in the grasp of the men, as they slowly inched the fiery point to Soda's bare chest._

_Steve cried out once more, before being struck across the head and silenced as a filthy hand clamped itself upon his mouth. He was forced to stare straight ahead as the metal was pressed against Soda's flesh, sizzling the skin beneath the intense warmth and leaving behind a permanent indentation—Soda's pained screams shattered across the area, causing thunderous rumbles of laughter from his tormentors—_

"Steve, wake up. Steve, it's okay—shh—" Steve awoke with a frightening gasp. He stared desperately at his surroundings, realizing that he was safely back in Darry's bedroom, secured tightly within the pleasant-smelling comforter. He peered at the figure sitting beside him, the one who had woken him and was now stroking the chilling sweat from his forehead.

"Evie…"

"Shh." Steve's girlfriend smiled that charming smile that Steve had longed for during his time in Vietnam, then leaned across the bed sheets and kissed the greaser gently on the mouth. Steve exhaled and draped the blanket more comfortably around his trembling body before returning Evie's kiss.

"What're you d-doing here?" he questioned softly.

"Told my parents I was goin' to a friend's house. And I didn't think Darry would mind much." She offered him a second smooch, one that was much more defined and clearly passionate, but Steve declined it.

If Evie was offended, she sure didn't make it obvious. "What were you dreaming, Steve?" she asked, toying amusedly with the fingers of his right hand. Steve allowed her to and remarked with a rickety: "It ain't nothin'. Go back to sleep." He tore his fist from her hold and faced away from her, his eyes focused vacantly on the blank wall to his left.

"Tell me," Evie insisted sweetly, touching her mouth innocently to the back of Steve's clammy neck. Steve shook his head and refused her persistence. It was just a nightmare. Just one single nightmare. Evie didn't need to know about an insignificant dream….

"Steve…" Evie was chewing on her lip just as she had when Steve had first arrived back home. Steve looked to her again, touching the side of her head caringly. He sure had missed that beautiful blonde hair of hers.

"Go to sleep," he mumbled, then stared away from her yet again. This time, Evie obeyed his soft-spoken command and fastened her eyes shut. The action was unwilling, but Steve appreciated it nonetheless. He wasn't in the mood to talk—at least, not at the current moment. What time was it, anyway? Three AM? Maybe four? Steve was thankful that he didn't have any scheduled plans for the impending morning. If he did, he probably would've ditched them. His nightmare had shaken him enough that he hardly wanted to breath, let alone oblige with an agenda four hours into the future.

His nightmare…. Steve's memory of the stoker was all too potent. He had been fortunate enough not to have the tip compressed into his tissue, but instead, Soda had suffered all the agony. Steve was able to recall his exact thoughts during that activity: _No, not Soda. Not him! Me…. Me instead…. _That also reminded Steve of the hour before him and Soda had officially been enlisted in the war, when Steve had joked: "Don't you go dying on me, buddy. If anyone's going, it's gonna be me. You hear me, Soda?" His words had meant nothing at the time. It was only dark sarcasm—a gag, just something he'd been free to kid about. If Steve had been blessed with the ability to view the future, he was positive he never would've uttered that same vocabulary in a teasing manner. Death during war was nothing to joke about. He knew that now.

"Steve, are you sleeping yet?" Evie was still awake. Steve snorted and rolled on to his side, leaning his body towards his companion before pecking her cheek tenderly.

"Evie, I said go to s-s—sleeeep…" Steve said, failing at an attempt to smother a yawn. He was exhausted again, too, but frightened of falling asleep. What if his nightmare resumed its place…?

"Not till you do." Evie beamed at her boyfriend, embracing a single arm around his shoulders. Steve couldn't help but to grin, despite the possibility of his fearsome dream resurrecting. Evie had already managed to remind Steve why he'd fallen so hard for her, and why he'd yearned for her so intensely during his absence from Tulsa.

Eventually, with the comfort of Evie and the warmth of the blankets, Steve's slumber carried on. Unfortunately, his memorable nightmare also recommenced.

-

Review, critique, and flame as you wish. (:


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three. (: Please review as you wish—and, you know, critique, flame, suggest, and all that jazz. :]

I do not now, nor will I ever, own _The Outsiders. _Or any material relating to the film _Brothers_.

-

That "impending morning" Steve had been oh-so-terrified of the night before came tediously, as he'd expected. His nightmares persisted all evening. When he'd enlisted in the war—hell, even before he had officially been enlisted in the war but was certain he was _going _to be, he'd worried about the aftermath of Vietnam. He'd been told of the possibility of nightmares when he returned home, depending on how traumatic his experiences turned out to be. At the time, though, Steve didn't expect himself to suffer from disturbing dreams. He didn't think his occurrences would be upsetting enough to cause them. Boy, had he been wrong.

Evie was still sleeping soundly, which was hardly a surprise. It was scarcely dawn—the sunrise had just barely begun to peak its head above the surface of the horizon—so Steve didn't expect anyone, whether it be his girlfriend or the Curtis's, to be awake. When he wandered downstairs to the kitchen, though, he was stunned to realize Ponyboy had joined him at the table.

"Uhh, morning, Pony," Steve murmured awkwardly, fidgeting in his seat as he reached across the table. His hand had been expecting to find some chocolate cake, as the Curtis's most usually set out in the open for visitors to snack on, but the only object his fist found was an intangible one. Just empty air.

"What? No "tagalong" comment?" Ponyboy muttered in return, examining Steve's hand as he inched it back to hang rightfully against his side.

"Well…" Steve scratched the back of his neck, though there was no tingle of an itch. "There ain't nothin' for you to tag along with anymore…."

Pony chose not to speak, but instead glare away from Steve just as identically as he had the moment the older greaser ventured back to Tulsa and entered his household. Steve couldn't help it—he peered straight at Ponyboy as he glanced to the left. Though it was still somewhat dim outside, Steve was able to recognize Pony's facial expression. He was crying.

"Pony…" Steve sounded apologetic as he spoke the younger boy's name. He even took the time to review his comment in the back of his mind. _There ain't nothin' for you to tag along with anymore…. _Now that he'd assessed the remark, he realized it had come out harshly. Almost disrespectfully. It wasn't meant to sound that way.

"Don't." Pony got up from his seat as Steve made an attempt to continue his explanation. "I'm goin' back to sleep." And with those final few words, he plodded up the steps to what had formally been his _and _Soda's room.

Steve heard the sound of the door thump closed, just as equally hard as it had the evening before. Again, he rubbed the rear of his neck, though there was no itching sensation. It just seemed to be something he'd grown accustomed to doing in shameful situations.

Only thirty seconds of quiet managed to pass before a second pitch ricocheted from corner to corner in the kitchen.

"Steve? What're you doin' up so early?" Steve was startled at the voice, but he refused to flinch, because he was aware of whom it was. The tone was acute and feminine, and, seeing as there was currently only one broad residing in the Curtis home, Steve was in no way doubtful of it being Evie.

"I could ask you the same thing," Steve countered, watching as a very sleepy Evie took a seat across the table in the chair that had previously accommodated Ponyboy.

"When you got outta bed I woke up. I tried to fall back asleep, but…" Evie cut herself off nonchalantly and smiled at her boyfriend. Steve chose to grin back, but only because of how beautiful she was, even before she was all dolled up in her usual greaser girl attire. "Anyway…" Evie went on, her smile wavering, then lengthening again as she was reminded of something, "Steve Randle, I think I owe you a coming home present." Evie's beaming had gone from casual to alluring in an instant, but Steve was not interested.

"Not today, Evie," Steve mumbled, removing Evie's hand as he felt it crawl close to his thigh. His sentence astonished both Evie _and _himself. In the past, he would've bounded at the chance—but at the present time, his spirits weren't high enough for him to want to do much of anything.

"Why not?" Evie questioned, arching one of her gorgeous eyebrows quizzically.

Unable to conceive a proper answer, Steve replied with a venomously low, "I dunno, baby. Just…not today. All right?" He stood up from his place in the kitchen. "I'm gonna go…. Take a walk by the DX, maybe."

Evie pursued after her boyfriend, grasping the crook of his elbow before he vanished beyond the outer doorframe.

"You sure that's a good idea, Steve?" She chewed familiarly on her lower lip before pursing her mouth into a concerned sort of pout. "I mean, you an' S – Soda…" Evie was afraid to speak Steve's best friend's name, in fear that it may stir something in her beau. It, fortunately enough for Evie, did not.

"No," Steve retorted tonelessly, squirming his arm out of Evie's clutch. "It's all right, babe, I'll be back in an hour." Steve hesitated. "Two at the most."

"Do – do you want me to come, Steve? I – I mean…" Evie held her upper limb out, forbidding Steve from leaving by pressing it across his chest.

"Evie…" Steve breathed out weightily and lightly pushed his girlfriend away. Evie shrank back, recognizing his persistence, and finally nodded her head agreeably.

"Okay. Fine. But … Steve … ?"

Steve released one of his feet outside.

"Yeah, baby?"

"I love you."

To that, Steve did not reply, but only grinned with unintentional acid and pecked the cheek of his partner. Then, with a final nod of his head, he admitted himself fully to the outdoors.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four—read, review, critique, etcetera. :]

Disclaimer: The usual, you know. I don't own _The Outsiders _or _Brothers_.

-

The DX was within walking distance of the Curtis's home. It was a minor bit of a hike, but Steve managed it without huffing his way there. Once he arrived, though, he scrutinized the gasoline station without actually stepping within its perimeter. From afar, the DX seemed…harmless. It didn't _look _poisonous, but Steve had a hunch that if his steps ventured closer, there'd be some pain. Still, his curiosity tugged on his heartstrings, and he stalked nearer until he was, evidently, contained inside its range.

The first thing Steve noticed was the sign, rusted and battered, although it still shone evenly of its original neon coloring. The second realization that struck Steve was like a hard smack across his face—David, the boy who had replaced his job immediately after he'd undertaken the sickening "adventure" of Nam, was strutting out from the garage, crossing the cement of the ground and over to the convenience store. Steve vaguely remembered Evie's letter, the one that had told him of David claiming his position as mechanic shortly after he and Soda had gone. Steve had torn that note into shreds.

Forcing David from his head, Steve dug deeper into the depths of his mind. More memories of work. Steve was reminded of how he, unlike most other people, had enjoyed working at the DX from the very beginning. To him, and to Soda, as well, it was more hours in the day that were full of activity. Steve needed that. He and Soda had always been the type of people who required an outlet—one that could engorge their energy like a car swallowed fuel. Work had hugely been apart of that outlet.

Steve was also able to reminisce with dozens and dozens of other memories. Memories of him and Soda, goofing off while still being able to properly balance their work. Soda, who most usually held his place in the convenience story, pumping gas for a whole variety of people. Socs, greasers, and most anything in between. Steve also recalled the bitterness he had sometimes felt towards Soda—his best friend's ease with the girls had often been irksome to him, but he'd dealt with it, because Soda was his best friend. And jealousy and best friends weren't a pleasant concoction.

"Buddy—_buddy_, hey. Why're you just standin' there?"

Steve blinked and glared at the intrusion. It was David. He hadn't realized his trudging had continued as he thought, eventually causing him to end up at the border of the DX.

Steve eyed David, who was grinning with an infuriating sort of smugness. It was obvious he knew who Steve was.

"'Cause I want to," Steve grunted, incapable of producing a better answer. He was too angry with the boy standing two feet away from him for his quick-witted juices to flow.

"Yeah, well, leave. I'm packin' in early." David's smug grin faltered as he glared directly at the sky. It was clouded enough that the blue had become invisible beneath the cover.

"Why?" Steve demanded.

"Snow storm warnin'. Boss told me to close up before it starts."

The word _snow _triggered something in Steve. That's what the guy—the fellow soldier—had called the powdery white substance he'd given him. Heroine. That was the day Steve had been given an unplanned lesson in drugs—snow could apply to both cocaine _and _heroine. It was also the second time in Steve's life, aside from the day he'd made the "all brawn no brains" comment to Darry, that Soda had been utterly furious with him.

_Chalky and pale, that was exactly the way Steve pictured the fine flaky essence a fellow fighter had offered him. He told Steve it'd help him loosen up during battle. He said he'd noticed that Steve was often tense when he fought, when he shot bullets across the battlefield, occasionally striking the enemy in his chest or temple. The man had said it would give him a high, ease the guilt of murder, and, although Steve had been well aware of the dangers of drug abuse, he'd still taken the heroine. _

_Steve inhaled it before his and Soda's encounter with the opposing side. The solider told him that the easiest way to consume the powdery heroine, rather than the liquid kind, was to snort it. So he did. He took brief stops every few seconds in between gearing up for the mission to draw it in. And he'd done so successfully, until Soda entered the room caught him in the act._

"_Steve…" he muttered, his eyes wide and locked on the whiteness in Steve's palm. "Wh – what is _that_?" _

_Steve quickly clenched the drug in his fist and held it behind his back. _

"_Nothin', buddy. You all geared up?" He obviously was by the looks of it, but Steve was merely attempting to change the topic._

"_Steve – was that…_heroine_?" Soda insisted, narrowing his eyes at his best friend. Steve exhaled sharply and refused to answer, so Soda continued on, and, finally, Steve admitted to it._

"_All right, Soda. Jesus, it's heroine, okay?" He reopened his fist and watched as the remainder of his relief fluttered to the ground. _

"_Steve!" Soda might as well have exploded. His anger had already caused his frame to quiver. "Are you – insane?! Do – do you have _any _goddamn idea what that stuff – " Steve tuned Soda out as he continued his speech. Soda hadn't ever lectured him before, and he wasn't taking a liking to it. Besides, heroine wasn't all that appalling. The ease Steve had been promised was already beginning to settle._

"_Steve – are you listening?! Steve…" Soda inhaled weightily, his tone softening. He hoped that if he lightened up Steve would hear what he had to say. "Listen up, Steve, those drugs ain't gonna help you…. They're gonna hurt you, buddy. Even _I'm _smart enough to know that." Steve groaned as Soda silenced his dialogue, waiting for his friend to remark. Mostly, over the years, Steve had held his tongue towards Soda's "stupid" remarks. Secretly, though, they had always irritated him. Soda wasn't dumb, and Steve was sick of him saying so._

"_Steve…" Soda went on to continue when Steve did not comment, but the hotheaded greaser intervened._

"_Soda, you ain't stupid. And I can do whatever the hell I want, ya hear me? And if I wanna do heroine—" Steve kneeled down, scooping up some of the substance he'd dropped to the ground and snorting it—"then dammit, I'm gonna do it."_

"_Steve—"_

"_Shut up."_

"_Steve, listen—"_

"_Soda, I said shut up."_

_Soda wanted to continue, and he would've, too, if it was not for the General signaling to them. Their time for battle had come._

_The boys marched towards their destination side-by-side, but neither of them said any words. That was the last actual conversation the best friends had spoken._

_The next afternoon, Steve and Soda had been taken captive in an enemy camp. That was the day Steve promised himself he'd never do drugs again._

"Hey, come _on_, let's go, buddy. Get outta here." Dave's eyebrows were etched into his forehead. Steve shook his head, fading slowly back into reality, then left without speaking.

The entire way back to the Curtis's, he wanted to cry. But he couldn't.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter five; read and review.

Disclaimer: Mmm … I don't live in Oklahoma. I don't have a best selling book …. So I guess it's safe to say I'm _not_ S.E. Hinton? (:

Haa. You can thank the snow for this update! (: While I was unable to do _anything _(and still am) and was considering banging my head against the wall in severe boredom, I decided I'd write. I suppose that's more productive, eh? All right. Please use this story to soothe those annoying urges to review, flame, critique, and suggest.

---

"Steve?" Steve had braced himself for Evie's concern when he arrived back at the Curtis's. And, of course, it came. Evie appeared in the doorway of the living room. She'd dolled herself up while Steve was gone, which would usually phase him but for now had no effect. "How was the DX?" Evie asked casually. Steve could hear shuffling in the kitchen. Darry and Pony were up.

"Fine." Steve's answer was curt, but also a lie. It hadn't been "fine" at all, but it wasn't mandatory for Evie to be aware of that.

The greaser girl's questioning proceeded no further as Steve sauntered into the kitchen. Ponyboy was seated at the head of the table. Darry was across from him, leaving a vacant chair at the far end of the counter. Soda's former spot. Steve was tempted to sit down in it, but he couldn't bring himself to.

"Morning, Steve," Darry greeted. He was trying his very best to be cheerful, but according to the bags beneath Darry's eyes, he hadn't slept well at all the night before. Most likely days prior to that, as well.

"Mornin'." Steve bowed his shoulder towards the wall, leaning his bodyweight against it. Twenty seconds later, Evie welcomed herself into the kitchen. Darry looked to her momentarily, but chose not to inquire about when she'd arrived.

The stillness in the room was uncomfortable, until Pony was "kind" enough to interrupt it with an acidic, "I've gotta go to school." He stood up from the kitchen table. His gaze flickered briefly to Steve, but he was unable to hold it steady and it collapsed to the floor. Steve sighed a little bit too loudly, which gained an inquisitive stare from Darry and caused Ponyboy to hurry out of the house.

"So … about Sunday … " Darry spoke up formally once Pony had gone, as though he was speaking at a business conference.

"Sunday?" Both Evie and Darry exchanged looks at Steve's baffled reply.

"Yeah, Sunday." Darry wiped his mouth with an unsoiled napkin and got up from the table. "This Sunday is – is Soda's … funeral. We've been plannin' it since he … "

"Died?" Steve finished Darry's sentence straightforwardly. He expected some kind of response from Darry, but received none. The oldest Curtis simply nodded his head and placed his and Pony's unclean dishes in the sink.

"Er, yeah … " Darry said finally, "this Sunday." He sighed heavily before continuing on. "Two days from now …. Listen, we gotta get you somethin' nice to wear. The funeral itself was covered mostly by Soda's death gratuity… so gettin' you a tuxedo or something should be easy—"

"Superman—"

"It just might be kinda hard gettin' you a rental on such short notice—"

"_Darry_."

Darry hushed up his rambling and muttered, "Yeah, Steve?"

Steve exhaled through his nose and flexed his fingers slightly, glancing to Evie and then back at Darry before saying, "Dar, what if I said I … _didn't_ want to go to … Soda's memorial?"

"Huh?" Darry dropped the dishes he was scrubbing and faced Steve. "Why – why not?" His mouth was agape, as though Steve had uttered an unforgivable curse word.

"I dunno. I just … don't know if I wanna go." Steve could no longer bear to witness the expression of confusion etched into Darry's face, so his eyes fleeted away.

"How come, Steve?" Darry answered plainly. It sounded like he was struggling to keep his tone composed.

"Look—" Steve's eyebrows raised exasperatedly to his forehead—"I'm not sayin' I'm _not _gonna go. I just _might _not …. " The greaser peered anxiously to Evie for assistance, but his girlfriend's appearance seemed as equally perplexed as Darry's was.

"Yeah, but Steve … _why_?" Evie and Darry each spoke the word _why _in unison.

Steve turned away from the duo, facing the connective passage that led from the kitchen to the living room. _Why the hell do you _think _I don't wanna go? _he thought to himself. He would've spoken the sentence aloud, but Darry's expression … it was mostly confusion, but there was also the distinct hint of something like … _betrayal_. He couldn't snap at the eldest Curtis, because he was already being selfish enough and didn't want to greaten it by cussing at him.

"Steve?" The voice that spoke next was not Darry's, but Evie's gentle tone urging him to properly answer the question. Steve clutched the doorway of the kitchen, treating it was though it was a lifeline. Then, through gritted teeth, he answered bluntly:

"I don't wanna go because … I don't think I could take it."

---

Sorry this chapter is shorter than usual, but I wanted to end it there. Please review! :]


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